


Though It's Been Said.

by himitsutsubasa



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Music, Frank Sinatra - Freeform, M/M, Music, Song - Freeform, late fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many times many ways. Merry Christmas to you.</p><p>Christmas eve alone at the office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though It's Been Said.

Christmas settled in at Q branch.

That is to say, there was tinsel everywhere. Someone managed to string lights over the blue screen at the front of the room. Eggnog or cider, often with a few shots of something alcoholic because the heating was out, appeared in mugs after three o’clock. Music played in a soft hum in the back ground and everyone crooned along to “Jingle Bells”, regardless of the headaches and pending missions. A modified dalek that shot marshmallows was wreaking havoc on the interns in the bull pen. Red and green post-its of varying paper-cut inducing sharpness replaced the regular post-its of varying paper-cut inducing sharpness.

Christmas settled in at Q branch in a vengeance.

Of course, that was the time for Q to sit back and realize that he had been Quartermaster for a year after the Skyfall incident and so far no one of great import had died, if one discounted the Skyfall incident itself. That was a bloody record.

Q drank his sluggish goop of eggnog and wished that they actually put some alcohol into his. Sure, no one thought he was old enough (he did celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday that past summer thank you very much) to drink, but they could at least give him the courtesy of declining.

He glanced at the caller ID as the phone headset trilled. It was M, at least the new M. He picked up the phone on the second ring and hoped beyond hope that this year, Christmas would not be a complete disaster.

* * *

Q tried not to think too hard on the revelry that just passed. Christmas parties, with the Christmas staff, apparently got out of hand. He didn’t know. He wasn’t there on the Christmas shift last year.

He tried not to think about the few people at the desks, the ones who drew the short straw, or knew what accepting an invitation to the party in the break room entailed. They were the right, lucky ones.

He put on his head set, trying not to think about the fluffy and ugly reindeer sweater someone gave him at the Christmas exchange, and sat in his office clicking away, monitoring by hand. It felt right. It felt better at least to know what he was looking at. He didn’t want a repeat. He was not sure he would survive a repeat.

Silva… Silva had done things to his head. The medics cleared him, but Q knew himself well enough. He knew when something was off. He felt that something ever since he was an intern turn quartermaster looking at a room full of people as smart as him was with years of experience and thinking he may have let them all down. It was humbling.

He tried not to think about that. Back to work. Back to work. He finished checking over the system. Everyone who was supposed to be there was, anyone who wasn’t, was not and the warm body count matched what the admissions desk told him were the number of people active in the building. He tried not to think about his throat clenching as the numbers showed up that a certain person was not there.

Well, so much for that.

“Q.”  A voice crackled in over the comm.  Q tried not to hyperventilate. 007 called. 007 called. That meant either something was broken or somebody was dead. It often meant both. He tried not to think about the previous body counts.

He breathed deeply. “Yes, 007?”

The voice cracked over again. They must not have a very good signal in the underground tunnels of Paris. Q wouldn’t know. He didn’t set up the cellular towers down there. “I’m sorry. It’s Christmas Eve. I know I promised you…”

“It’s perfectly fine.” He was trying not to think about a lot of things. Trying not to think about not having a warm hand on his shoulder was one of them, perhaps the most important of them, but it was just one of them.

“I wish I was there.”

Q sniffed, rubbing his fogging glasses with the scratchy sweater.

“I wish you were too.”

They settled into silence after that, the base sounds of a train and footsteps the only thing to keep him on the line, knowing that James was still there.

“Q?”

“Hm?”

He heard 007 take a breath, and a familiar melody reached his ears. “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose.”

“007.”

“Yuletide carols being sung by a choir. And folks dressed up like Eskimos.”

James’s voice was rich, like cream and chocolate. Q figured the man never had a singing lesson in his life but he still managed a smooth, luxurious sound. It was like his mother putting a record on at home; back when Q still had a mother and a home to go back to. He felt his spirits rise a little, after they dropped about a thousand miles into the earth’s core.

“And so I'm offering this simple phrase to agents and quartermasters too. Although it's been said many times, many ways,” James crooned into the microphone.

Q rubbed his fogging glasses, again resisting the urge to dab at his nose with the sweater. He reached for the box of tissues that somehow appeared on every desk in the branch. How did they even have the money for that anyway?

He smiled into the microphone even if James couldn’t see it.

“Merry Christmas to you.”

He heard a soft chuckle at the other end of the line. “Merry Christmas, Q.”

Q tried not to cry as he said, “Merry Christmas, 007.”

* * *

The next morning, Q stepped into the cold winter day. It was bitterly chilled in the way that only London could be. The fog obscured his vision and for once he wondered if it would require a certain number of ritual sacrifices to not get snow up to his nose. But, he thought, as the sun rose in the distance tinting the sky pink, this is the most beautiful time of the year. He heard the snow crunch under his boots as he walked along. Music still played in the background.

Q paused in his step. There was not supposed to be music. There were no people, no cars, no café’s open. Anyone in their right mind was in bed or opening presents. He was the only person crazy enough to try to head home, rather than sleep off the eggnog hangover in the office. Spinning around, he listened more closely.

“I'll be home for Christmas. You can plan on me. Please have snow and mistletoe and presents 'neath the tree.” Q stopped in his tracks. A smiling figure was slowly making his way up the street. Q glanced over the dark coat, red scarf, and stunning blue eyes.

“James.”

Warm arms wrapped around him and he breathed the scent of smoke and coffee and ozone. A soft voice whispered in his ear, “Christmas eve will find me, where the love light gleams. I'll be home for Christmas…”

Q reached up, pulling James into a kiss before his could finish. He could feel the tears in his eyes and the thud thud thud of his heart in his ears. James pressed him closer, pressing his nose into a dark mop of curls. 

“I’m home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so late for Christmas, but I found this on my com and figured I should post it.


End file.
